


Loved By You

by Stylish_Racoon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Timeskip, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylish_Racoon/pseuds/Stylish_Racoon
Summary: "Father wants to marry me off to a noblewoman," he confessed in the end, "I am here because I wanted some time away from him to think."Pins prickled the outer layer of Felix's stomach, much lighter than he remembered, but undeniable none the less. He licked his lips. "So you ran away," he stated.





	Loved By You

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is not beta-ed. It has only been checked by my own two eyes, which have spent way too many hours on it and see everything and nothing wrong with it at the same time. 'Scuze mistakes you see, I am A Person.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ink soaked the paper as he etched his signature on the bottom of the letter.

He put the pen down and let it dry before rolling the paper to a cylinder and wrapping a golden string around it. Over the candle fire, the wax had melted completely. Careful not to burn his fingers, Felix picked up the copper-clad spoon and poured the fiery red liquid on top of the paper, right where the string tied to an elaborate bow. He firmly pressed the seal on top of it. The insignia of House Fraldarius, proud and clear, was imprinted on the dollop when he removed it.

Felix handed the rolled paper to the messenger standing straight and unmoving by his chair. "Take this to the boar king as soon as possible," he said simply.

With a waist-deep bow, the messenger skidded out of Felix's office. The door clicked softly after him, and Felix waited until his footsteps could no longer be heard before he relaxed in his chair. The sun had already crossed the distance to the middle of the sky, yet the was a stack of papers by the end of his mahogany desk, requests he had to fill in and letters he had to reply to, seemed to only be increasing — never decrease. A sigh escaped his lips. When the war ended two years before, when his father died suddenly because of a vengeful girl, and he, unwillingly, got the Fraldarius House under his control, his daily life changed drastically. From meetings to feasts, to tax collecting and land culture, weapon and soldier expenses — all these things Felix had watched his father do from afar, he was suddenly found in the middle of. Unlike his father, though, Felix was a part of another, bigger scheme; building Fódlan from scratch, together with his childhood friend the Boar.

Needless to say, Felix was so young and ever so tired.

Closing his eyes, Felix let his mind wander to that one room in his mansion, the one he kept his swords in, and his fingers clenched around the arms of his chair. A few more hours, he would remind himself and keep going; a few more hours before he could go back to his swords.

For Felix, the absence of esteemed foes to spar with did nothing to dwindle his enthusiasm for swordsmanship or blunt his skill. Occasionally, his friends and comrades, the people he had fought by the sides of and taken blows in their stead, would visit him for a friendly chat, some tea. If it was the Boar King and his Holy Wife, Felix would throw a sword at them as a greeting and challenge them to a duel. Dimitri he could beat; the Professor — Archbishop now — he couldn't, still. If anything, each time she would teach him something new; a spell, a skill, a point of view. For solely that, Felix trained every day, still hones his skills until his body forced him to stop or he was summoned.

His service as the heir to House Fraldarius had an expiration date after all; he had to make a living once free of his title.

However, there was a lot of time for that to happen, he mused. Fódlan was still in shambles after Edelgard's actions.

Sighing, Felix sat up again. He retrieved a sheet of paper from the pile, brought it in front of him and began to work again.

Halfway through the pile, ruckus in the corridor in front of his study made him look up for the first time in hours. "Sir, please!" his butler's voice desperately called behind the closed door, "Master Felix is preoccupied at this moment—"

"Yes, yes," another chirped full of joy, "and that's exactly why I'm going to see him. So that he takes a break at once!"

Felix would recognize that voice anywhere. Smooth and laced with charm, its manly timbre rang through the walls and into Felix's ears, as if one day and not ten months had passed since he last heard it. He sprang out of his chair and stormed to the door. With force, he yanked it open.

On the other side he stood, with an arm already raised to knock, with curls on his hair and honey in his eyes, and a smile that would put the stars to shame spreading across his face as soon as their gazes met. He wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and chest, like he always left it, a gold-on-black jacket snug against his shoulders and black slacks underneath. Felix glared at him enough to keep him silent. Then he turned to the butler, who was bent at the waist and sweating profusely.

"Master," the butler said, voice shaking, "I tried to reason with him, but—"

"There's no reasoning with an animal," Felix cut him off curtly, staring pointedly at his childhood friend. He waved his hand at the butler. "That would be all."

The man bowed one last time. "Apologies, sire."

Felix watched him walk away. Then, as he craned his head, he hissed, "What in the goddess' name are you doing here?"

Sylvain shuddered theatrically, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. His grin wasn't nowhere near gone. "Cold as always!" he claimed. He walked in Felix's study without waiting for the permission to. "Is this how you greet a friend you haven't seen in a year?"

Ten months, Felix corrected in his head. "You came one century too early," he said with his mouth. "Unannounced too. Where's the letter of your arrival?"

Sylvain sighed, scratching the back his head. "You never change, do ya?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and with another, smaller smile, he added, "Either way, I'm glad to see you faring so well, my friend."

His fingers twitched around the doorknob while his heart squeezed at the words, and Felix pushed the door until it shut. He walked around Sylvain, careful not to bump on him as he was in a daze eyeing his office, and stopped behind his desk. He picked up a sheet of paper to busy his hands. "What brings you to my territory?" he then asked.

Leather boots rustled the coarse mat. The desk creaked under his weight as he leaned on it. Sylvain, too, picked up a paper out of the pile to pretend to look at it. "Just wanted to catch up and see what have you been up to," he murmured. He glanced at Felix then, his stare piercing, "You scarcely reply to my letters. Do you burn them or something?"

Felix snatched the paper back from his hands, placing it on the pile where it belonged. He put out the fire that melted the wax and opened the first drawer to the right food of his desk. A key blinked back at him, a key to where all Sylvain's letters, both those he replied to and those he didn't, were hidden because he could never bring himself to trash them like he did to others. Felix clenched his teeth and pushed it out of sight, hating himself a tad.

He tossed the pen in and closed the drawer. "I have better things to do," he said instead.

Sylvain rolled his eyes, but instead of the whine, the jab about his icy cold behavior Felix had expected to come, he was met with silence. Felix frowned. They had known each other far too long; Sylvain and silences were not normal when combined.

It was then that Felix noticed it scribbled across his features with an ink-less pen, in the deep brown of his eyes — a secret. A secret well-hidden, a secret that hurt and urged to be shared, but Sylvain was adamant on keeping it in regardless of the cost. A bundle of nerves tightened around Felix's stomach. He cleared his throat, "Will you be staying long?"

"You want me gone already?"

"Quite frankly, yes. Your presence here ensues only trouble."

Chuckling, Sylvain lifted a palm up. In a deep, serious voice that reeked of lavish and fake, he spoke, "I solemnly swear that I, Sylvain Jose Gautier, shall not seduce all the maids of the Fraldarius residence." He winked, grin turning impish. "Only a couple of them."

Felix stared at him in silence. He was not sure what expression he was wearing, but the humor slowly drained from Sylvain's face with each passing moment. "Just kidding, sheesh." He shook his head. "Can't you take a joke?"

"Not when it's not funny," Felix retorted. He pushed the chair to his desk and swiftly walked around it, heading for the door. "I'll have the butler show you to the guest room," he said as he pulled the door open. He didn't look behind him to see if Sylvain was following. "Servants will tend to your horses."

"I would be grateful."

"I assume I have to feed you too."

"You wouldn't let a guest starve, would you?"

Felix side-eyed him. "Considering the guest is you, then yes I would."

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, a forehead pressed against his temple and a giddy laugh rang in his ear, and Felix was ten years old again and Glenn was alive, and he had just scolded them for being rowdy, for being naughty, and they were running away from him to hide in their secret, makeshift base, snickering at their private joke.

"You really never change," Sylvain said and it was one truth in the millions of lies that always came out of his lips. A smile stretched against Felix's skin. "Let's hop on your training grounds for a sparring match, hm? Like the old times."

Old times. For someone who hated dwelling on the past, for someone who lived only to change and get better, Felix's chest swelled noticeably at the sound of these words. He forced back a smile, violently shrugging Sylvain off of him.

"Let's," he said softly.

**~ * ~**

Water splashed on the overheated rocks and sizzled to steam.

Felix dropped the wooden cup into the equally wooden bucket. Closed his eyes, sucked a breath in. The air was warm as it travelled full of water down his throat, then his lungs, stopping only when it reached the final stretch of his diaphragm, then rushing out dry. Bullets of sweat were pouring out of him, his pores gaping open and oozing the toxins his hour-long sparring with Sylvain did not manage to get rid of. The screaming of his over-excerpted muscles, too, was reducing to a dull throb with each passing moment.

One droplet of water or sweat slid down his temple. With his shoulder, he wiped it off.

Sauna first morphed from a mere concept to a reality during his days in Garreg Mach. Felix had been reluctant in the beginning; sharing a closed off space with a dozen other dubiously hygienic teenagers felt like a special request to diseases and fungi. But Sylvain and his silver tongue, his naked collarbones and strong chest, the Adonis lines jutting from under the towel around his waist, had talked him into joining him once.

One time was enough to get Felix hooked — to the heat, the humidity, the water in his lungs. Sauna became so inseparable to him that he built one in his mansion as soon as the war was over.

Felix shifted on the towel, his back leaning on the wooden planks of the cabin's wall. He had hated the crowd the sauna at Garreg Mach used to have, but always found a way around it by either going way too early in the morning or way too late at night. Now, in the privacy of his own territory, Felix spent every other day soaking in his sweat and cleansing his body from the inside out.

Privacy, however, with Sylvain Jose Gautier in the vicinity was a short-lived situation.

The cabin's door snapped open and a head popped in. The curls of his red hair bounced. "There you are!"

Sighing, Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you here?"

Sylvain stepped in the cabin and closed the door behind him. He had to slouch to fit his enormous frame in space, lanky arms banging on the walls at the elbows, feet thudding on the floor, until he finally settled next to Felix. "You disappeared after you finished wiping the floor with my face at the training grounds and I got lonely," he said, "so I asked around for you and this adorable little maid of yours told me you're here. It was cute how red she got when I took my shirt off in front of her."

Heat from Sylvain's body caressed the upper layer of Felix's skin from their proximity. Teasing. Mocking him. Felix shifted his body away from it and hissed, "Stop harassing my servants."

"I was merely teasing her! Gave her a little taste of what could be hers for a night or two."

"I forbid you from engaging in sexual activities with the maids. I won't risk having bastard brats that look like you romping around my mansion."

Sylvain shook his head. "Nothing risky like that, I know what I'm doing. Maybe I will coax a —" With the corner of his eye, Felix caught his hand moving, side to side, fist closed in a very familiar gesture. Sylvain's face broke into a grin. "Or a nice service by their mouths," he added.

Felix's face muscles pulled in a grimace. "You disgust me."

"Don't be like that," Sylvain cooed. His lanky arm wrapped around Felix's shoulders, pulling him in. Then, with a cheeky smirk he asked, "Don't you like women at all?"

Felix chortled, humorless. "At least I don't loathe them like you do."

"That's a lie. I love women! And they love me too, I'm quite the catch. Handsome, wealthy, and a Crest-bearer — what else would they want?"

Poison stung through the honey-sweet of his words, dripping thick from tip of his tongue like nectar. It was the kind of poison he always spat at the mention of women, a poison produced in the crevices of Sylvain's otherwise large heart, by the voices his father and the screams of his dead brother. Felix was no stranger to it, but he suffered each time it spilled from his friend's lips as it meant that he, too, was suffering.

Felix turned to face him. Sylvain was not smiling anymore. "You're being a prick."

The arm around him withdrew. Sylvain pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I think I gave you enough time," Felix then stated. Sylvain's gaze hardened, but it didn't faze him. "Spit it out. What really brings you here?"

He unwound right then, a wave of exhaustion washing over his handsome face. Palms turned to the ceiling, back slouched, his head tipped back, hitting with a gentle thud against a wooden plank. "You know me too well," Sylvain said.

Felix did. He knew Sylvain better than he knew the swords he wielded and the magic spells he casted. He knew what each tone of his voice meant, he knew the creases on his forehead, he could tell from the wrinkles around his eyes which smiles were genuine and which were fake, because Felix had spent most of his life looking at Sylvain's face when the man wasn't looking. "I'm not a fool," he retorted simply.

Silence stretched as Sylvain sought his words, mouth opening up then closing in regret, and repeating the process a few more times before giving up. He propped his arms on his knees and dropped his head between his shoulders. "Father wants to marry me off to a noblewoman," he confessed in the end, "I am here because I wanted some time away from him to think."

Pins prickled the outer layer of Felix's stomach, much lighter than he remembered, but undeniable none the less. He licked his lips. "So you ran away," he stated.

Sylvain's face twisted. "If you want to put it like that, then yes, I ran away. I always knew it was coming, but actually having it in my plate..." He groaned, ruffled his hair. "You recall my troubles with dealing with the fact that this is my future. At the academy and during the times of war, I had the illusion of a choice and it felt like freedom in the prison I live in. But now...now I don't know what to do."

"You never had the guts to defy your father." Felix tugged at a fray end of the towel, letting it fall on the floor. His tone was cold when he said, "Or to forsake who you are."

Sad brown eyes met with his and Sylvain shook his head. "It's more because I realize it's futile," he explained calmly, "If I disappear, he will hunt me down to kill or imprison me; if I reject the wife now, he will bring me another and another and another, until I pick one. Even when he dies, my uncles and aunts and cousins will carry on his will. I have no choice; only a fate written down for me in the shape of a crest."

Felix rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He was tired. Tired of the hefty jingle Sylvain's chains made as he dragged them to everywhere he went. They were the same chains his father and brother wore like an emblem, Felix realized, the chains of chivalry and virtue, the chains of fate and purpose, the very same chains that brought them to their deaths earlier than their time. Bitterness rose in Felix's tongue, but he did not let it spill. "Have you met with her?" he asked instead.

The tension in the air dissipated as soon as Sylvain cracked a smile. "I have," Sylvain said, "She is gorgeous and elegant, absolutely lovely, all smiles and pleasantries." The smile fell, quickly replaced by a frown. "She will make a great wife and give me a number of heirs, crest-bearers and not, but then what? The ones that don't bear a crest will despise the ones that bear one?" Sylvain shook his head vehemently. "I never wanted this kind of life, not for me, and I definitely don't want it for my offspring either. I don't want my brats to go through what I went through with Miklan."

Felix retrieved the cup from the bucket. He tossed it at the overheated stones, relishing the deafening sizzling of the evaporating water droplets. It filled the thick silence between them and loosened, slightly, the engraved crease on Sylvain's forehead.

"I could have wedded one of our noble comrades, you may say," he added after a while, "But when you have bled on them and they have bled on you, when you have patched up their wounds and stayed awake at their side to ensure yourself before anyone else that they are not dead, it is hard to see them as wives anymore. They become kin. Sisters."

Eyes dropped to the scar starting from the base of Sylvain's neck and extending an inch under his clavicle. It was smaller than what it had been, but the memory of how to came to be flashed before Felix's eyes and haunted his dreams, real, vivid, as if he was there all over again. The whistle of wind, the glint of the axe's curvature, Sylvain's breastplate shattering from the impact and the bit digging into his skin as if he was made out of butter. A vile, gurgling sound climbing his throat. Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Sylvain sliding from his horse, head lolling backwards.

It was all a blur from then on — bodies falling on his wake, screams of pain echoing as Felix's sword cut down the human-shaped vultures circling Sylvain's limp body. Rain. So much rain, falling from his eyes on his best friend's face. Sylvain's blood was gushing out of the torn artery and staining his skin and Felix's hands, and Felix bellowed for help as he pressed on the wound with shaking fingers.

He was not the same after that incident. Every naive emotion, every excited butterfly in his stomach died that day, and in their place bloomed something deeper, something substantial and permanent.

"Kin," Felix echoed, more for himself to hear. It, too, fell short in describing what he felt for the man next to him.

Sylvain, unaware, nodded and leaned back once again, he added, "I would die protecting them, but I can't take them for wives. Besides, it would have broken Ashe's heart if I stole his Mercedes. Hilda and I are way too alike. Ingrid would rather swallow a burning lance than be my wife, or so she had claimed once while inebriated." He sighed. "Professor is exactly my type of woman, but she's with our Highness and that's a no-go land. I have been really unlucky with that brigade."

Felix's right eyebrow had started to tick. He smoothed it out with his fingers. "And how is your stay here going to benefit you in any way?"

Sylvain's gaze grew distant, his eyes wet. "I just," he whispered and it broke. He cleared his throat. "I just want some time to think without his voice muttering in my ear."

It was drenched in misery and despair, in a vulnerability Sylvain did not usually flaunt around and Felix cursed his weak, weak heart. He picked up the bowl, filled it with water, tossed it at the flaming rocks. His tongue ran across his lips. "Then stay as long as you need to," he said after a while of silence.

Lanky arms were around him in an instant, jostling him like a ragdoll. Felix clutched on the bench to prevent an ominous slip up, as Sylvain pressed a grin in the skin of his shoulder. "You're the best!" he cheered.

"On one condition," Felix cut the enthusiasm off. He gripped Sylvain's chin and forced their gazes to meet. "Read my lips," he said, "You will not be engaging in any sort of sexual activity under my roof."

"Oh, c'mon man!"

"I am not joking. If I find out you have disobeyed me, I will personally make sure you don't get to make love another time."

A violent shudder raked Sylvain's whole body. He squirmed out of Felix's hold as if he got electrocuted and pressed his two thighs together. His palm moved between them protectively. "And you keep your swords sharp."

"Always," Felix said with the edges of his mouth titled upwards.

Sylvain sighed. "I should have gone to Dimitri. He would have given me the same order, but wouldn't stick around to find out I disobeyed him."

"Go to the boar then. One less trouble for me."

He was all smiles then, the kind of smiles Felix hated with all his heart — the sly, promising smiles, the smiles he flashed when he had one and only purpose; to get his way. Felix hated that they worked on him. They always had. "I was just kidding," Sylvain drawled. He moved closer again, pressed his chest snug against Felix's back, arms loosely around his middle. "Being with my best friend is exactly what I need right now."

Made out of wax as he was, Felix started to melt. He tipped his head to the side, leaning against Sylvain's jaw, closed his eyes. Pathetic, he thought, I am so damned pathetic.

They sat in silence with the whistling of the steam the only sound between them, with their skin on fire but for a different reason each. The heat had started to get to Sylvain, Felix noticed, his breath heavy and wet as it brushed his ear in their proximity. Growing up in the north and surrounded by snow and icy cold rivers, higher temperatures were never the optimal conditions for him. Yet there was no indication of him wanting to move. If anything, he held Felix closer to him. Felix wanted to ask him why, but he was afraid of the answer.

Fingers slipped in his hair and with a gentle tug of the elastic band that always held it out of the way, black invaded his peripheral vision. Felix pulled away, huffing tuffs out of his eyes and scratching where the ends tickled him on his shoulders or chin. "Are you a fool, what are you doing," he issued with a frown.

Sylvain chuckled. "I am undoing your ponytail, what does it look like I'm doing?" He pushed the fallen strands that got into Felix's eyes backwards, tucking them behind his ears. The ends, he caressed between his thumb and index. "Your hair is prettier than a girl's."

"Are you complimenting me?"

"Most definitely." Sylvain snaked his fingers to the roots, letting them glide all the way to the ends with a swift motion. He hummed, appreciatively. "I am glad you grew it out," he said, "even though you always complain about how inconvenient it is."

Felix looked away and said nothing. If he saw his eyes, Sylvain would find out; find out about his raging heartbeat, the roaring blood in his ears, about the fact that Felix despised having his hair played with, despised being touched and hugged, but if it was Sylvain he could make an exception; he would find out the reason why Felix grew his hair out.

Mimicking, Sylvain averted his gaze too. When Felix chanced a glance, he wore a smile. A real one.

"Thank you for listening to me, Felix," he said, soft and vulnerable.

Felix's lips curled too at the man Sylvain his underneath; the man he loved with all his heart. "Shut your mouth already," he retorted half-heartedly, "That's what friends are for."

**~ * ~**

The days melded together, one after the other, until two weeks passed.

Sylvain was not showing signs of intending to leave. If anything, he followed Felix around in the mornings and helped him out with the chores, then joined the house meetings, if any. They had lunch together and in the afternoons, they strolled around the city for groceries or ale, or for Felix to forge and batter up his long collection of swords. On occasion, they had tea in Felix's study or sparred in the training grounds. In the evenings, they dined at the porch and Sylvain talked until he tired himself out. Then, they went to sleep.

It almost turned to a daily routine. The servants grew accustomed to his presence too, going as far as to be friendlier to him than they were to Felix. Surprising even himself, Felix did not mind Sylvain's presence either. He found a nostalgic, youthful comfort in it.

There was, however, one black stain in the story.

Felix heard the giggling as soon as he entered the kitchen. He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag across his shoulder and with a sigh, he walked out of the door leading to the back of the house he never visited under other circumstances. It didn't take long to spot them. Pressed against the wall, trapped under Sylvain's large frame, the cook's daughter giggled sweetly. His hand had glided under her skirt and fondled her bare thigh, his mouth delving in the side of her neck.

Felix drew a shaky breath through the nose. With a steady stride he approached them. An arm outstretched, fingers clasping a delicate ear.

Then, he pulled.

Sylvain staggered, letting go of an unmanly shriek and bending to half of his size. "Ow, ow, ow!"

"What did I say?!" Felix shouted, not missing a beat.

"I was just telling her she's pretty!" he whined. His ear had turned bright red in Felix's grasp. It mingled perfectly with the color of Sylvain's hair as well as the color of the woman's complexion as she hastily straightened her skirts and fiddled with her open buttons of her shirt, her head bowed all the way.

"With your hand under her skirt, you filth?!" Felix hissed. He turned to the girl, "You!"

She jumped, folding her hands across her lap. "Y-Yes, Master Felix," she squealed, "I am so terribly sorry, I-I —"

"If he harasses you again," Felix cut her off, forcing his tone to a softer hue, "let me know and I'll dispose of him."

She blinked at him. Stray strands of her black hair fell out of her bun and framed her face, the blush on her face making her look alluring in a youthful, but sinful way. "Sir, Master Sylvain wasn't har…" At Felix's hardening glare, her mouth closed shut. Her head bowed again. "Yes, I'll let you know sir, please excuse me."

In a hurry, she disappeared in the kitchen and Felix waited until she was out of an earshot before turning to Sylvain. He still cowered next to him, on the verge of tears. Felix waited some more, because he could, because Sylvain squirming in pain was fulfilling.

"What should I do with you now?" Felix sighed, pressed his lips in a thoughtful line. "Dice you up and feed you to which animal?"

Sylvain whined and twitched once again. "Can you let go of my ear? It hurts!"

Felix did. In an instant, though, he shoved Sylvain to the wall and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down to eye level. "Didn't I say you'll stay on one condition? What was the condition?"

"I wasn't doing anything sexual!" Sylvain exclaimed, but to the tightening of Felix's hands, his jaw snapped closed. He raised both hands in the air. "Alright, okay, I walked in the kitchen for a bite since you were gone for so long and I was getting hungry, she was there and she was really cute and her lips were so soft. I couldn't stop myself."

Felix huffed, "She's the third one in the span of a week."

"Not my fault you have cute maids!" He trembled when Felix growled. "Alright, okay, I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

"Next time I'll use my sword," Felix enunciated slowly, "I'm not joking." He let go of Sylvain, who slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. "Put yourself together, we are going to my study."

Pouting deeply like a child, Sylvain tucked his shirt back in his trousers. He slid his hands on the fabric in an attempt to smoothen out the wrinkles, but gave up once he realized it was futile. Felix watched him closely, a part of him annoyed, another enjoying the nervousness that had ceased Sylvain's movements. He kept sneaking glances at him, lips pursed to a thin line.

"You're stricter than Ingrid."

"Not strict enough if you ask me."

In silence they passed through the kitchen, but the cook's daughter was nowhere to be found. For the better, Felix thought. He would have given her a tongue lashing if he saw her. Silly girl, falling for the fool's charms.

They were for show anyway.

The door to his study rattled at the hinges when Felix shoved it open and stormed to his study. It clicked, however, softly as it was closed and Sylvain's footsteps closed in on him where he stood by his desk, rummaging through the bag.

"What are all these?"

Felix turned the bag upside down and neatly folded pieces of paper, tucked-in folders and fabric pouches with a bow holding them closed spilled on the surface of his desk. Spreading them out with his palms, he then crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Letters from desperate fathers, love letters from maidens and sweets." He sighed, shaking his head. "Goddess mighty, the amount of sweets. Sylvain," he motioned vaguely, "Take them."

An arm extended over his shoulder, grabbed four of the pouches with one hand. "Your hatred for sweets is timeless," Sylvain teased. "Lysithea is still traumatized by your reluctance to cake — what are you doing to the letters?"

Putting the bin on the floor again, Felix said, "Throwing them away."

Sylvain groaned. "Goddess Felix, you're not going to even look at them?"

"They are all asking me to marry a woman. I am not willing to do such a thing."

"Sheesh, you're the most eligible bachelor and yet you are unavailable." With a shake of his head, Sylvain tugged one of the pouches open. A rich scent of vanilla and honey wafted in the air, sweet and warm, Sylvain's deep hum of appreciation as he bit into one. Felix ignored his presence, opened the drawer, retrieved his pen, then closed it. His chair shrieked when he dragged it across the floor, papers rustling when he stole one from the pile.

Sylvain leaned on the desk. He munched on another sweet, then placed the cloth pouches by his thigh. With the back of his hand, he wiped his mouth in an unrefined manner. "Say," he started, "I have always wondered. Are you interested in women?"

Felix looked up from the paper. "Not in the slightest," he deadpanned, but it rolled strangely on his tongue, he noticed, as strange as a secret that had never been spoken of before could be.

Sylvain's mouth curled to a warm smile. "Men?"

Felix let go of a breath he hadn't realize he had been holding. He glanced down at the paper, his eyes seeing the letters but his mind wasn't deciphering their context. "It doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't," Sylvain nodded, "but a guy can be curious." He placed the cloth pouches on Felix desk, chewing when he added, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Felix shrugged, "It isn't a secret anyway." He glanced back at Sylvain, scowling. "What of it?"

"Nothing, don't get defensive," Sylvain said, "It just explains so much. See, I always thought you were so disinterested in anything romantic because you were in love with your swords. How naive of me!"

"You have always been slow."

Sylvain picked up another sweet. He twirled it around in his fingers and a line formed on his forehead as he stared at it. Then, he put it down. His voice was small when he spoke next, "Did your father know?"

Felix's mind traveled a few years in the past, his father walking in the room when Felix had a young boy from town pinned against the wall, tongues deep in each other's mouths. All color had drained from his already pale face, but he walked back out without a single word and closed the door behind him. Dumbfounded, they both stared at the closed door. Soon after, the young boy tucked his shirt in his trousers and began to leave. Felix, however, wasn't done with him yet.

Later that day, Rodrigue Fraldarius invited Felix in his study, the study him and Sylvain stood in the present, for tea.

"He found out," Felix said, shrugging, "He wasn't happy about it, more so because Glenn had died, but even if he tried to pass me a wife it wouldn't have mattered."

The smile on Sylvain's face had turned acidic. He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. "Damn, you make me so angry."

"You make me angry all the time so that's a sentiment we share, but elaborate on why I am currently making you angry."

Sylvain gestured in the air. "Because you're so gutsy!" he exclaimed, "Because you don't let yourself be bound by societal norms and noble duties. Even before your father died, you had relinquished your role as a heir, even though you're currently taking care of the territory."

"That's only temporary. It would cause havoc if I left now," Felix explained. "People would die without a head."

"Which is essentially what makes me mad! You chose to do this; no one was able to force it on you. And even if they did, you'd run away to do your own thing without fear." Sylvain slammed his open palm on the desk. He was seething. "I envy you for that."

Felix blinked. A smile twitched on his lips. "For believing in myself?"

Sylvain blinked back. "What do you mean?"

Felix sighed. Putting the paper in his hand down, he stood from his chair. "Just like you, I never cared for titles and nobility," he said as he walked around the desk, "I ever only cared about my sword and my skill, and now I can make a living with my skills and my brain alone, so I am not afraid of what will become of me when I abandon my identity." With his thumb, he jabbed Sylvain's chest, right there, over his heart. "But you...You're the one selling yourself short. You always did it, since we were little — striving to appear shallow and laid-back, always slacking off training even though with practice you could easy par with me in ability. Even in class, you pretended you were dumb when you were the fastest to grasp what the Professor was teaching. Don't get me wrong, your shortcomings are blatant, yet even I can say that you are far more capable than you want to believe."

It wasn't often Sylvain's face twisted in nasty grimaces; it wasn't often he frowned in front of others, but at Felix's words, all of his facial muscles contorted, filling him with lines and creases. "I just didn't want to be special," he snapped, "I have all my life been treated as someone special."

"You aren't special, Sylvain," Felix huffed, "Not one person in our circle ever treated you as such. You were the one going out of your way to tell us you aren't because you have confused capability with nobility." Sylvain lowered his gaze then and Felix's chest ached. He reached out, resisting the urge to hug him and patting him on the shoulder instead. "Your crest doesn't define you," he said in a softer tone, "It only gives you a title which, admittedly, can be taken back at any given moment."

Sylvain's shoulders shook, but his laughter held no humor in it. "If only my father shared the same opinion as you."

"Defy him. You have all the means to do it."

"It's not easy."

"Nothing is easy," Felix said. With a shrug, he added, "Besides, bloodlines are thinning. There's little chance your crest will pass to the next generation, whether you marry a noblewoman with a crest or not."

Sylvain reached for another sweet. Felix grabbed his wrist before he put it in his mouth. "Stop eating those. Let's have dinner."

Sylvain put the sweet down with a sigh. "Can we drink too?" he muttered, "I feel like I need some alcohol after all this."

"I'll inform the servants."

He was back to his smiles then, his arm slinging around Felix's shoulders. "You'll drink with me too," he drawled, "The only way you'll tell me about your love life is when alcohol streams in your system, right?"

Felix pushed against his chest, with only half of his strength. Sylvain didn't budge. "I'd rather die."

"C'mon! Just a little bit!"

Dinner was short, light, with Sylvain holding the majority of the conversation while Felix poured the alcohol in their glasses and ordered the servants to bring another bottle once the one they nursed was empty. By the end of it, bottles, large and small, littered the whole length of the dining table and they were stumbling to Felix's room with Sylvain's arms wrapped snug around Felix's chest and his mouth in his hair, laughing at his own joke and Felix's exasperation.

"Please!" Sylvain moaned, "If you don't tell me, I'm gonna die!"

Felix snorted. He fumbled with the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Then perish."

"Felix!"

"Sheesh, fine!" Felix shouted. "Will you leave me alone if I tell you?"

Sylvain's cry of victory was drum-piercing. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, I promise."

With a violent twitch of his body, the weight of Sylvain's body vanished from his back. Sylvain caught the other man stumble on his feet, barely making it to the end of the bed before falling face-first on the mattress. Chuckling again, Felix closed and locked the door behind him. In one hand he held a bottle of heavy liquor Dimitri had gifted to him once after one of his visit to Garreg Mach. When Felix told him he was not fond of alcohol, Dimitri smiled and told him that was why he brought it to him. Felix sneered thinking about it.

A subtle thump, followed by a pained groan attracted his attention. Sylvain rubbed his back where it had contacted with the floor. "You are so drunk," Felix snickered.

Sylvain grinned at him. "You aren't any better. You're smiling!" He tapped the spot on the floor next to him and added, "Now c'mere and tell me all about it."

Sighing, Felix complied. He placed the bottle of liquor by his thigh, his back pressing against the bed's leg. Sylvain inched closer to him and they were touching then, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He smelled strong, masculine, a mixture of the earth and the plants with the buttery candy he loved to suck on. With deft fingers, Felix undid the first few buttons of his shirt. He tugged it out of his trousers and loosened his leather belt. Then, he stalled.

"Well?" Sylvain issued.

"The gatekeeper," Felix croaked out plainly.

Golden brown eyes widened comically. "Really?! You were bedding the gatekeeper?!"

Felix took a swig off the rim of the bottle and passed it to Sylvain who mimicked him. He chuckled at the fond memory. "He was merely an occasional lover and a warm body during winter," he explained, "Nothing more nothing less."

Sylvain swallowed the alcohol and his Adam's apple bobbed, slow, as if deliberate. A pink tongue darted out to collect remnant droplets on flower-red lips. "Do you still…?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't know where he is," Felix said. He took the bottle from Sylvain's hands and brought it to his mouth. "Probably married and serving in either the boar's or the Professor's army. He was always fond of her." He put it down, chuckled. "Who isn't fond of her though."

"Now?"

"Now what?"

Sylvain tilted his head backwards. His neck stretched, the skin pulsing slightly with the force of his heartbeat and had they not been sitting so close, Felix wouldn't have been able to see it. His mouth watered, tongue twitching, burning to run across the length of it.

"Do you have a lover?" Sylvain asked and the spell broke.

Felix shook his head and it spun, spun, spun. The bottle was in his lap, half-empty. He scrunched his eyes closed. "I don't have time," he breathed, "Or energy, as a matter of fact." When he opened his eyes again, Sylvain's mouth had stretched to a smile. Felix frowned. "What?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Not in the shallow, temporary way you fall in love, no."

"Don't avoid the question with insults!"

Slapping a palm flat against Sylvain's mouth, Felix hissed, "Shut your mouth, yes, I have been in love. I still am, if I dare say." As he watched Sylvain's eyes widen again, his lips titled in their own, private, mysterious way. "But it's...different now."

Sylvain gripped his wrist. He tugged Felix's hand away from his mouth. "Different, how?" he asked.

"It's deeper now, it's an inseparable part of me and it doesn't hurt. I see him with partners and it doesn't hurt. Not as much as it hurt in the past."

"And?!"

"And, what? Nothing." Felix brought the bottle to his lips and took a big sip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed. "He doesn't know and I will never tell him."

Sylvain grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Why not?!" he gasped, "What if he loves you too?"

Felix gripped Sylvain's forearms to stop the earthquakes. "He likes women," he explained. He chuckled then, bubbly and giddy, because of the alcohol or the intoxicating love he held from the man clutching to him like a lifeline. "Besides," he then said, softer than the silk of his shirt, "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with an idiot like him."

The fingers around his shoulders loosened at the same time Sylvain's jaw slackened. His brown eyes were round like a child's, but only for a moment before they hardened up like wood. Sylvain clenched his jaw, letting go of a long sigh through the nose. "He does sound like an idiot," he agreed, "Considering he hasn't figured it out yet. Look at that smile on your face." With his index and thumb, he pinched Felix's cheeks. "It's kind of creepy to see you smile like this for the first time, but if someone smiled liked that because of me, I would have noticed the very first second."

Laughter bubbled up, from his stomach to his throat, and Felix tipped his head and let it stream out of him until his chest began to hurt. It was from the alcohol swimming in his system, he thought, from the unbelievable words coming out of his best friend's mouth, from the memories of a boy gazing at Sylvain's slowly changing face, boy to man, in hopes he would be noticed, but never did. Felix couldn't for the life of him hold it in.

For someone as smart as Sylvain was, he certainly was denser than the material his winter coats were made out of.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Felix shook his head. "Nothing," he said, but his shoulders were still shaking, "It's really nothing."

His eyebrows pulled at his forehead, but Sylvain said nothing more. He waited it out until the fits of laughter subsided, until the shivers had stopped and Felix could breathe normally again. His tender fingers massaged the muscles of his biceps, wiped away the tears streaming down his eyes as he would a child or a lover. Then, he closed in on himself, his pensive, confused expression turning vile. "I am a bit jealous of him," he confessed.

Smile vanishing, Felix frowned. "Why?"

Sylvain sniffed, tweaked his nose with the back of his hand. "Being loved by you..." He trailed off, shaking his head and sighing. "It must feel incredible. You look at people the way they are, you see their hearts and their souls, you protect them and watch them grow. Regardless of your caustic cynicism, you're deeply passionate. You could easy sweep a man off his feet. I speak from experience."

The last sentence echoed in Felix's mind. "What?"

"Well..." Sylvain gestured, his smile turning coy, his gaze fleeting. "I am only speaking of this because I am drunk, but I have thought about kissing you while you handled demonic beasts like they were nothing but bugs," he said, "We were still teens, but I was swooning over you at times. Embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Why."

"Because you looked cool, I —"

"Why didn't you do it."

Sylvain blinked. "You would have bitten my tongue off!" he exclaimed. A snort, "I'm not that suicidal."

Felix gathered his knees to his chest and hid his face between. He wished the world swallowed him whole; he wished to disappear; he wished the alcohol soaked his brain and kill him or make him forget the words his best friend had just uttered. He had noticed the looks Sylvain was talking about. In the battlefield, as his blade sliced through the stomach of a horrifying beast and sent it to an early grave, Felix had felt the prickling of Sylvain's stare digging holes at the back of his neck. He never thought much of them, envy or jealousy, or even looks of admiration we're familiar to him. He had ignored the fire they lit up in his body and how tight they made the collar of his shirt, charging on to another opponent instead.

If only he had known.

Felix let out a loud groan with years long of longing and frustration.

Fingers slid up the length of his spine. "What?" Sylvain pressed, "What's wrong?"

"You stupid, bloody—" Felix trembled, with laughter and anger. He tipped his head back and shouted at the ceiling, "Goddess, why did you make him such a fool?!"

"Felix?"

The final thread of his patience snapped. Reason flew out of the half-open window in his room, dissipating to the chilly air of the spring night and with a kick that sent the liquor Dimitri had brought to him spilling across the floor, Felix straddled Sylvain's lap. Greedy fingers slid the steep slope of his jaw, a thumb glossing over a pair of parted lips.

"You have five seconds to tell me to move away," he breathed, heady, unmasked and full of want.

Sylvain froze under him. He made no movement to throw Felix off, he uttered no word, but his slow, shaking breaths against Felix's lips.

Felix counted to five and their lips met in a thundercloud. Jolts sparked across his skin at the briefest contact, traveling up his spine and making his fingers numb. He pushed them in Sylvain's hair and grabbed two tight fistfuls, relishing the gasp the action elicited.

He pulled away first, opening his eyes, and a smile quickly quirked his mouth. Void of the usual confidence he proudly wore when he courted women, Sylvain looked deliciously lost in the new world Felix was opening up for him.

Felix let his fingers loose, delving in the red hair he had loved since his childhood, fiery and unique as it was, marveled at its softness and neatness as the tuffs slipped between his digits. Sylvain's breath was hot against his lips and sweet on his tongue, and the alcohol between them intoxicating Felix further. He bumped their noses together, tongue flickering out and coursing over a pouty bottom lip. Things changed then. Sylvain's jaw set and the molten of his eyes hardened. Hands slid up Felix's legs and found purchase on his hips.

Then, Sylvain caught Felix's lips to another kiss. A real kiss, which did not hold the candle to the sweet, chaste, timid one they shared not too long ago. Felix drowned in the power and longing it oozed, he drowned in Sylvain's breath, his scent and taste, in the hands squeezing his waist hard enough to break without actually doing it. He had thought and dreamt of this for the biggest part of his adolescence, but how far off the mark was fantasy to reality.

He felt like he was dying in the sweetest, slowest way possible.

Sylvain was the one who broke the kiss first, titling his head back in a gasp of air. Dizzy from the kiss and the alcohol, Felix lost no time attacking the long neck exposed to his mercy, his deft fingers working the buttons of Sylvain's shirt as the man moaned in his ear. There was a voice in the back of his mind, the part that was not yet soaking in alcohol, telling him to stop, telling him this was crazy and the repercussions were many, but Sylvain had just slipped his hands under his shirt. His hands were warm and rough from wielding axes and lances, and the walls Felix had built between them so many years were crumbling down one by one.

Felix worked the buttons loose, but they weren't coming apart fast enough. With a growl, he grabbed two fistfuls of Sylvain's shirt and pulled. Buttons flew and fabric tore to shreds, and it was the only thing that slowed them down. They glanced at each other, counting merely seconds before they burst to giddy giggles.

"I have spare ones," Sylvain said.

Felix pushes his hands under the torn fabric, moaning at the feel of tough muscle. He bit his lower lip. "Get on my bed," he hissed.

Sylvain's eyes widened. "W-Why?"

"Don't panic. I'm merely going to service you."

He rolled his hips against the undeniable hardness building in Sylvain's pants, sending a curse past the man's lips. "Didn't you say," Sylvain gasped, "to n-not engage in sexual activities under your roof?"

Felix chuckled. "I'm the head of this house, fool. Rules don't apply to me."

"Right. Right, alright."

There was an allure in the way he scrambled to his feet with trembling knees, in the daze in his eyes which was so uncharacteristic of his otherwise confident demeanor. Felix watched him as he crawled on the bed and laid on his back, shirt torn and haphazardly sliding down his shoulders, and sculpted chest flushed red like his hair. He looked like the sinful god Lady Rhea would have warned them about when they were teenagers, Felix thought as he bit his lower lip. His head was swimming in euphoria and years of longing, of blood and gaping wounds and tears, and with a deep breath Felix filled his lungs, wiping them away from his mind. He only kept his lust, proudly wearing it on his face, on the way he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

Sylvain regarded him with curiosity, with fire in his eyes and a stutter in his breath. A steady hand reached out to touch when Felix kneeled towards him, sliding up his thigh as he straddled his hips, and they lost no time reconnecting their lips. Felix's bones melted under his skin, the areas Sylvain's hands coursed over in their journey, alight and tingling. He rocked his hips, painfully slow. Nails dug in his shoulder blades, Sylvain's lips parting in a heady breath.

"Felix…"

Growling, Felix ground harder. Sylvain called for him again and Felix's name had never sounded more beautiful.

He licked a trail from Sylvain's neck to his jaw and sucked a sensitive earlobe in his mouth. Sylvain hummed in his ear, satisfied, his fingers slipping in Felix's hair and undoing the headband. Dark tresses invaded the corners of his vision and slapped on Sylvain's face and the space between them, forcing Felix to move an inch back. "Give the hair band back," he said, "It'll be a pain to do this with my hair down."

Sylvain shook his head, closing his fist around it. "I will hold it back, I—" he gasped as Felix ground his hips again, "That's all I want — to hold it while you do it."

If Felix hadn't caught on fire before, he was burning down to his cinders as soon as the words spilled out of Sylvain's mouth. With one final, sealing kiss, he trudged lower, kissing down Sylvain's chest and letting his tongue feel the indentations of his quivering abdomen. He stopped at the waistband of the trousers and forced the fly undone with trembling fingers.

Fingers slipped in his hair, gripped at the roots.

Tasting him for the first time exceeded every wild fantasy of his adolescent years. Sylvain was warm and manly, endowed graciously compared to Felix's past lovers, which made it difficult for Felix to accommodate him fully in his mouth, yet that did not stop him from going down on him until his throat was raw and his jaw cramping. He relished the sounds he drew from Sylvain's gaping mouth, the twitching of the fingers in his hair and the quivering of the hips under his forearms, until he heard it; in the silence of the night, mingled with their strained breaths and Felix's roaring heartbeat, uttered quietly, like a private prayer to the goddess.

"Felix."

Moaning, Felix took him all the way in. Sylvain sobbed. "Goddess, Felix!"

The first spurt hit the back of Felix's throat, taking him by surprise and he pulled back. The second splashed against his lips. The third one, he caught with his tongue. Sylvain shivered from head to toe, his breaths short and labored and shaking, unintelligible mutters of Felix's name crossing his lips, and Felix worked it out of him, slow and careful, waiting for the jitters to subside and for Sylvain to start squirming from overstimulation. Then, he let him go.

He sat back. With the back of his hand, he wiped spit and come from his mouth and chin, with his fingers he massaged his aching jaw. Sylvain stayed sprawled on the mattress, unmoving sans the fast movements of his chest. In the darkness his eyes glimmered, unfocused and his skin glowed with a sheen of sweat, and he drew meaningless circles above his stomach with his index.

"Goddess," he sighed. "I knew it."

Felix undid his pants. The fabric rubbing on to his oversensitive member made him hiss. "Knew what?"

Sylvain sat up and with the movement, the shirt slid down his shoulders, making him look like a blooming flower. When their gazes met, his eyes were soft at the edges, round, and swimming with the affection Felix had never seen directed at anyone before. His breath hitched. At the sound of it, Sylvain smiled. "I knew that being loved by you would be an incredible feeling." When Felix looked away, he cupped his face with both hands and asked, "Why did you tell never me?"

"I don't recall ever saying that I love you," Felix said, but even for a lie it sounded fake.

Sylvain saw right through it and chuckled. He slipped an arm around Felix's waist and pulled him flush against his body. With a gentle thumb, he caressed his cheek. "Even after all this, you're still going to deny it?"

Felix scoffed. "Would it make a difference if I admitted it?"

"A big one at that."

Felix glanced back in his eyes. Then, he snorted. "I'm not going to be your weekly lay."

The thumb on his cheek halted. Sylvain's face twisted. "You would never be something like that to me. I am a lot of things Felix, but I am not scum enough to take advantage of you for sex."

"You like women."

"That's true," Sylvain nodded, "but I never love them. I can love you though." When Felix chuckled, he pouted. "Don't laugh, I am serious."

"You're drunk."

Sylvain shook his head. "Not so much anymore," he sighed. He dropped his head on Felix's shoulder. His body was trembling, his voice coming out weak. "Felix. I only ever wanted to be seen for who I am, and you...you have always..."

Felix sought out his mouth and pressed his lips on his to silence him. His soul ached for more, to soak in his affections until the cracks glued back together, but if Sylvain went on with his sweet, sweet words of the night, he would crumble and stay in pieces forever.

He guided Sylvain's hand on the tent of his trousers. Shuddering, he whispered, "Touch me."

The mattress shifted under Sylvain's weight. Licking his lips, Sylvain drew in a deep breath. "I might not be any good," he chuckled, "I haven't done this before but..." He trailed off and slipped his fingers in Felix's undergarments.

Felix titled his head back in a gasp and melted under the spell of Sylvain's presence, of the warmth of his touch and breath, of his lips on his neck and his voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Felix heard both everything and nothing, bathing in the attention and the heat of every word, until it all became too much. He gripped Sylvain's biceps and bowed his head, his shoulders hunching as the throes washed over him wave after wave after sweet, deadly wave. Stars swam in his vision when he opened his eyes, and he was there, showered in the light of the moon coming through the bedside window. In his alcohol and ecstasy-ridden brain Felix thought he was a fantasy, a dream from the past had come to life, but the sweet kiss Sylvain planted on his lips brought him back to the ground.

"You made a mess," Sylvain teased. Felix shoved him on the chest, but laughed with him as he nuzzled his cheek. Sylvain cradled his face with his free hand, sighing over Felix's lips. "You were beautiful."

Flushing red, Felix scoffed. "Shut your mouth."

With trembling limbs, he crawled out of bed and sought out the handkerchiefs he held in the drawers of his library. He retrieved two, one to clean himself up and the other he handed to Sylvain.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, wiping his hand on the fabric.

Felix sat on the bed. "My jaw aches."

"You did take me all the way in." He crumbled the handkerchief in his palm, chuckling. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Practice, fool."

"Goddess, I envy that gatekeeper."

Felix threw the handkerchief at Sylvain. Sylvain chuckled and hauled him on the bed next to him. Their heads landed on the same pillow, their limbs in a tangle and their breaths, heavy with alcohol, mingled in the space between them. Sylvain touched his cheek. He took a deep breath.

"Felix, I—"

He pursed the moving lips between his thumb and index. "Don't speak anymore," he whispered, "If you mean the words you speak of, say them to me when the sun is shining."

Sylvain held his gaze, brown eyes hard and unreadable, but in the end he nodded. He wrapped his arms around Felix's shoulders and pulled him on to his chest. His heartbeat mingled with the sounds of the night, with the crickets serenading the stars above, and Felix closed his eyes, hoping to never wake up from this wonderful dream.

**~ * ~**

He was by the sea, hair brushed back by the breeze and his feet sank in the pale sand. The sun was gentle on his closed eyelids and the taste of salt intense on his tongue, as if he took a crystal and sucked on it. Cries of joy sliced through the silence and he opened his eyes. Glenn and their Father to their waist in the water and two young boys sat on their shoulders, holding hands and pushing each other. One had short red hair that curled towards the sky, the other long black locks that shone under the mid-summer sun.

The black-haired boy shoved the red-haired boy off of his father's shoulders. He let out a shout of victory, shaking his small fist in the air while the purest smile lit up his youthful face.

Felix smiled. Then he blinked once and they were gone. His father, Glenn, his young self and Sylvain — all dust in the wind.

"Open your eyes."

Felix turned his head. Sylvain stood next to him, his resting fingers snuggly between the gaps Felix's had. He was older then, but his hair still curled the same way, his smile reached his eyes and they shone, gems of the Heroes' Relics they had both inherited against their will.

"You're not supposed to talk here," Felix said.

"Open your eyes."

"They are open, doofus."

Sylvain smiled. He leaned in, kissed Felix on the forehead. "Open your eyes."

Felix stared at him as he shattered and took the dream with him. Teetering on the thin line between consciousness and deep sleep, Felix felt it tremble on his heavy eyelids and disappear without a trace. He cracked an eye open and like a late-blooming flower, a fearsome headache spread across his forehead, strumming all the nerves behind his eyes and forcing him to squint again. He buried his face in the pillow and groaned, cursing himself for forgetting to close the curtains last night.

Last night. An array of bottles on the dining table, Sylvain's easy smiles and drawled words, his arms around his shoulders, a bottle passing between them. His lips on Sylvain's lips, his neck and chest, his—

Felix lifted his head from the pillow. A flash of red invaded his vision. He slept on his back, an arm curled under one of the pillows Felix owned, the other placed palm flat above his chest, large and wide, like a breastplate. His lips were slightly parted and he snored with every other breath, the loops of his hair fanning on Felix's pillow.

"Goddess," Felix breathed. Cold sweat rolled down the back of his neck. What had he done?

Sylvain stirred then, fumbled with the sheets. His hand landed on Felix's thigh and he mumbled his name. Low. Quiet. But enough to have Felix's heart leap for the skies. He didn't wake up.

With a knot in his throat he could barely breathe around, Felix slipped out of the bed and rushed to the showers. The servants he met on the way greeted him with smiles, but they were made out of glass and air through the panic rising up in him. He kicked the bathroom's door open and hastily, still with his clothes on, he stepped under the shower, turning the water on and letting it icy prickles stab his skin until he was numb. The blur in his eyes would not budge. Maybe it was the water falling directly above his head. Maybe they were tears; Felix would not distinguish between.

He pushed against the tiled wall with two palms and the weight of the implications forced his shoulders to sag. With the alcohol gone from his system, reality had stopped being easy and the vicious claws of his mistakes were clutching tightly on his skin. Felix had meant what he had said the previous night, that he never intended Sylvain to find out. The risk was big, the complications many, and Felix would rather live a life full of longing than chance to lose his best friend. Yet now the secret was out, and though Felix had faced armies of soldiers and Demonic Beasts, of archers and mages going after his life and he hadn't even blinked, he couldn't for the life of him bear the idea of facing Sylvain again.

With a twist of his wrist, he switched the water off and let out a long suffering sigh. He tugged at his parted shirt and shrugged it off. His trousers followed suit, adding to the pile next to the bathtub. He turned the temperature to warm, ready to switch the water on again. He paused.

Sylvain hadn't pushed him away, he realized.

Felix placed his hand atop of his heart, letting it thrash against the pads of his fingers. Sylvain not only hadn't pushed him away, he chased him and kissed him back and called his name full of lust, praying to the Goddess that Felix never stopped.

A flower of hope opened its petals in Felix's soul. He looked away from its breath-taking beauty, rejecting it. That way, it would hurt less when he had to uproot it.

He stepped out of the shower and covered himself in a fluffy from the stack nearby. His skin broke out in goosebumps at the relentless morning chill and he touched it to smooth it out. Then, he headed for the door.

A mountain in the shape of a person blocked his exit, his escape route. His hair was more tousled than usual and under his eyes lurked dark circles, yet Felix's breath caught in his throat. Nerves ceased the length of his stomach. "What are you doing here?" he gasped.

Sylvain leaned on the doorframe and smiled, easy and relaxed. He wore the torn shirt from night before, his slacks unbuttoned at the waist. "The bed is empty without you," he cooed, "Come back with me."

He opened his arms and wrapped them around Felix. His neck smelled like Felix's sheets, like his soap, a reminder of the events of the previous night. Felix stiffened and melted all over at the same time.

Sylvain pulled back with a frown. "What, no good?"

Felix felt bile rise to his throat. His shoulders started to shake. "Stop mocking me."

"I—" Sylvain's frown deepened. "I wasn't. Don't you cuddle in the morning?"

"Only with my lovers." He added, infused with acid, "My real lovers."

Sylvain visibly winced. "And I'm not one?" he asked. To the silence that followed, he sighed, "Felix, I meant what I said last night. I know it's hard to believe given my history, but—"

"Stop talking," Felix hissed. He pushed against Sylvain's chest and walked past him. "Just. Stop talking."

"I'm not going to, Felix!" Sylvain shouted. His thudding footsteps echoed on the matter floor, his fingers grabbing a hold of Felix's wrist and forcefully turned him around. "You told me to tell you the things I said last night when it's morning and I'm sober," he said, "It's morning. I'm sober. My head hurts like a bastard, but here I am."

Brown eyes spat fire, the kind of fire Felix had only seen the sparks of light up Sylvain's face when _he_ had been in danger in the battlefield. His aura wasn't easy-going anymore, it wasn't carefree. Instead, he oozed determination and Felix was weak; he was weak to everything Sylvain was. He sighed, long and dejected. "Let me get dressed first."

Sylvain grounded him with a powerful stare. Then, he let Felix's wrist go with a nod.

The walk back to Felix's room was tense and full of words snuffing in airless silences. Felix's thoughts ran a mile a minute, twirling around Sylvain and his words, the look in his eyes and his jutting collarbones, and that flower of hope in his chest was blooming and growing and rising and branching out in his airways, making it hard for him to breathe. He cursed himself, he cursed it for feeding on such trivial things Sylvain threw his way, but he felt alive — alive and alight.

He went to his closet as the door clicked softly behind him. With only a second of hesitation, unbothered by the presence of another male who had already seen all of him, the towel pooled around his feet and he slipped in a clear pair of underclothes, a button shirt he didn't button up and a pair of black slacks that were loose on his waist. His hair, he tied it up in a ponytail. Then, with a deep breath he turned around.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he grumbled.

Sylvain sat on the bed, on the rummaged from the night before sheets, sporting a pure smile. "Because you're really handsome," he said. He chuckled, cheeks tinting red as he looked away. "I always knew you were, but now it's different."

Felix walked over to him. "Different, how?"

"It gives me butterflies in my stomach now."

The threads of his patience snapped one by one until there were none. Felix slipped his fingers in Sylvain's hair and tugged his head back, so their eyes met, molted chocolate to tough wood. "Listen here, filth." It was a hiss, like his swords made when he drew them out of their sheaths. "I have lived all my life loving you and, and I learned to live with it," he said, "I will not be a weekly lay while you go around marrying another woman."

"You would never be that—"

"Let me finish," Felix said quickly. He licked his lips. "If you tell me you can't reciprocate my feelings and you wish to stay friends, I can live with that. But if you go into this on a whim just to change your mind in a week or so, I will dice you up and burn you, then travel all the way to Almyra and spread you remnants in the sea."

His eyes stung, his vision swam and Sylvain swirled in it, took the shape of the magic spells the Professor had taught him back in the academy. He coaxed the fingers out of his hair, cradled Felix's hand in both of his and kissed the top. When he smiled, the tears Felix harbored leaked out for the first time.

"Felix," Sylvain said, soft like a caress, "When did you realize you loved me?"

Felix sighed, he wiped a tear from his cheek. "I'm not going to feed your ego any longer—"

"This is not about my ego. Answer me."

How could he ever forget that time, that first time he felt Cupid's arrow piercing his heart from one side all the way to the other. How many years had it been? A lifetime for Felix's soul. He licked his lips. "We were at the beach," he said, "Young boys after a day of playing in the sun. I was looking at the ocean and you slipped your fingers between mine, looked at me and smiled. You didn't say anything, but you didn't have to." Felix glanced in a pair of swimming brown eyes. "That smile was enough."

Sylvain stood up. He cupped Felix's face. "It was the same for me," he said. "A few years later than you, but still."

"What do you mean?"

"It took only a moment for me too." Slipping an arm around Felix's waist, he pulled him flush against his body. "We had both been drinking," he started, "and you were telling me about someone you're in love with. It didn't feel good, the idea of you loving someone else, not at all. So I told you. And you kissed me. That kiss was enough." He lowered himself to press his nose in Felix's cheek. Then, he whispered, "Felix. It's always been you. I have been such a fool."

Everything was on fire. His name on Sylvain's tongue, his breath on his lips, his waist where he touched him, their fingers that were linked like that day on the beach. The alcohol was out of his body, yet Felix's head was spinning and spinning and spinning, without any signs of stopping. "Shut up," he whispered, he trembled. His fingers curled in his palms. "Shut up forever."

"Can I kiss you?" Sylvain asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. He went in for the kill. Felix clenched his teeth around the plump of his lower lip. "Ow, don't bite me!"

Felix gripped him from the collar of his shirt. "Serves you right, filth."

Then, he really kissed him.

Their lips moved in sync and Sylvain sucked on his tongue and Felix bit his chin, and it was hungry, hungrier even than the ones they shared the previous night, but that was only because Felix had been starving for it all his life. He slipped his fingers in Sylvain's hair and tugged it back, attacking his neck, and his skin was electric with every whisper of his name that vibrated in Sylvain's throat.

Sylvain undid his hair and let it fall between his fingers. He filled his hands with it and tugged Felix away from his neck. He, too, was breathing heavily, his cheeks as red as his hair. He brought their foreheads together. "Felix," he whispered, "I'm going to face my father."

Not expecting this during such a heated moment, Felix blinked. "That's another surprise."

"I will decline the wife and all the others that will follow her." His lips hovered above Felix's pulse. "I have a lover now," he whispered full of heat, "And I wield the Lance Of Ruin; he can't do anything to me."

Felix moaned, in spite of himself. "I don't want the Gautier army in my territory."

"Why does it matter? You'll have me fighting alongside you."

"That does not make it any less troublesome, half-wit."

Sylvain pressed his face in his shoulder and chuckled. His thumbs coursed across the pointy parts of Felix's hips, collected but possessive. "Remember that promise we made?" he asked, "When we were kids?"

Even if he wanted to, Felix could never forget. "To stick together," he nodded, "Until we die together."

"Yep, that one." Sylvain laughed again. "I suppose we married each other without realizing it."

Felix joined him with a smile. He hugged that chest closer to him. "I was a foolish child."

"You were cute," Sylvain mumbled. He pulled back, regarded him with a fond expression. "As cute as you are now with that blush on your face. I love it, do it more."

Felix pushed his chest, to escape his embrace. He was surprised to realize, but he was smiling as he said, "Get out of my house."

Sylvain fell on the bed, and his own smile turned sly. He yanked Felix onto him and did not stop pulling closer and closer until they were both breathless and their names mingling on each other's lips.

**~ * ~**

The next day, Sylvain left. He loaded up his things up his horses, kissed Felix long and hard and galloped back to the Gautier territory.

He was gone for half a year and when he came back, he wielded the Lance of Ruin and wore a smile, a real smile as he carried a room-full of courting gifts. When Felix asked him what were all these gifts for, Sylvain handed him a ring and asked him to marry him.

Felix threw the ring at his forehead. Then, he said yes.

They both relinquished their titles as nobles soon after, and stayed together until old age in a house in the quiet forest. They died together, on the same day, happy and complete, conceding that one could not live without the other.

**Author's Note:**

> I might have stolen (and slightly altered) the last line from the game itself. It was the perfect and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Stylish_Racoon)


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